Days are cold
by BadWolfReborn
Summary: All human (almost) AU, if you don't count the Zombies. /When Rose Tyler and John Smith meet at the end of the world, the outcome is one that no-one expected/ Rating will be upped. WIP.


**Days are cold.**

_Very_ loosely based upon the movie _28 weeks later_. I'm terrible at watching horrors once it gets really gory, so this won't really follow anything more than basic. There may be slight elements of BBC3's _In the Flesh_ too, because it is gr9 and a lot less scary so I can watch that without cacking myself.

So yeah, John Smith & Rose would have lived on opposite sides of London, and didn't know each other prior to these events.

(Also: Jeremy Renner in a dirty army costume A++)

(Also Also: Un-beta'd, unless Microsoft Word counts.)

(It doesn't.)

**TRANSMISSION FROM Dr John Smith Bch SC. **

**Recorded on the 13****th ****April, 2013. **

[TRANSMISSION BEGINS]

Hello there, my names Doctor John Smith- well, obviously my name isn't Doctor, but that's what I am, was, whatever- and as I'm recording this, there are three dead people trying to get in the house where I and four other survivors currently reside.

Not the most pleasant of circumstances, certainly.

Anyway, before I get into the technicalities, I thought you might like to know a little bit us all.

There's a couple who own the house, Mickey and Martha Smith, aged 23 and 22 respectively- nice enough, I suppose. Mickey seemed a bit of an idiot at first but he's gotten us out of quite a bit of trouble, I can tell you that, and Martha's awfully handy with bandages and ice. She worked at the Royal Hope in Central London, he for the Metro Police force.

The police never used to like me that much, always getting into trouble with them, I was.

There's a ginger called Donna- Noble, I think- and _bloody hell_ she's loud. Saying that, she knows when to tone it down, and she's kind too (Oh God, don't let her hear this, she'll either hit me or hug me or call me names and I honestly do not know what's worse). Keeps reminding me to do stuff, and it's not like I've _forgotten_, it's just that I like to do things in my own time. That's the temp in her, that is.

[MAN IN BACKGROUND SHOUTING. WOMAN SHOUTS BACK, SEEMING TO SAY "SHUT YOUR FACE, YOU IMBECILE." PROBERLY DONNA.]

And there's me, of course, plain old John Smith. I was teacher at a school, just around the corner. Obviously I got loads of offers for loads , I've got a Doctorate _and_ a Bachelor, but it's so stuffy in those posh grammar schools and Oxbridge type places, and I've had e-bloody-nuff' of them things when I was a kid.

Then there's Rose. Rose Marion Tyler.

She's a kid, only just 19, used to live with her mum on one of those estates in the East. Of London, not East... _Japan_-East or anything. She used to dye her hair blonde and she's short and she has a fondness for wearing my jacket when it's cold and we've run out of firewood. She used to be engaged to a bloke named Jimmy but he went off somewhere a few days before the infection began, and she says that she wishes he was dead, really and properly dead.

She used to work in a shop and she never went to college and she barely scraped her GCSE's, and when she says that she smiles like she's laughing at herself but it's not like things like that matter anymore and it's not like they would have before, not with someone like her. She's [UNDECIPABLE NOISE BLOCKS OUT SOUND]

Anyway, I don't why I'm telling you this- proverbial on the other side of the tape recorder you- because like I said, there are three zombies trying to get through the back door. Mickey's waving a rather menacing rifle at me as we speak, and if I didn't trust him with my life I'd be absolutely petrified.

As it is, I'm only mildly concerned.

Rose is here, so I'll sign off now. She's the one who told me to start recording this thing, daily, in case we ever get out of here- always the optimist, my Rose- because she watched a film once about a zombie apocalypse, apparently it was quite brilliant.

[MAN SHOUTING AGAIN IN BACKGROUND, CLOSER THAN BEFORE. DIFFERENT FEMALE WHISPERS TO JOHN.]

Rightio, I'm properly off now. Off to defend my humble abode and that.

[FUMBLING]

Rose? Rose! How do I turn it off?

[TRANSMISSION ENDS]


End file.
